


The Day The World Went Away

by strawberry_pills



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Altered Carbon Fusion, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-30 15:12:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13954290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberry_pills/pseuds/strawberry_pills
Summary: Petyr Baelish, a former CTAC officer turned rebel in the uprising, wakes up in a new body 250 years later. He is given the choice to either go back on ice for his crimes for the rest of his life, or to help solve the murder of a titan of industry.





	1. Came Back Haunted

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fusion of Game of Thrones and Altered Carbon. Again, English isn't my native tongue so expect some errors every now and then. I also borrowed some of the lines from the series. Hope you guys will enjoy!

 

_Your body is not who you are._

 

 If someone told you that dying is like falling asleep, then they've never really experienced dying. Dying is more like climbing your way out of a gaping pit while the light is slowly being engulfed by darkness as you cling to the last vestige of hope that you'll eventually make it out.

But you don't. The light goes out and it's just you and the dark and then nothingness.

Being revived, on the other hand, is different—especially being revived in a different body. It's like being defibrillated while you were sleeping. All through his life, Petyr had never really gotten used to resleeving. And right now, he sensed that someone is trying to pull the umbilicus from his mouth, also pulling him from the depth of unconsciousness he's in. His Envoy training kicked in and he ended up clocking the man's nose.

"Ow, shit" The man clutched his bleeding nose. "What the fuck man. You broke my goddamn nose."

Petyr, naked as the day he was born, staggered and fell to the metal grating floor. The coolness helped alleviate the dizziness. _Coming back from the dead is a real bitch._ The other woman was now calling for help.

He grabbed the man's collar and yanked it towards him. "How long have I been down?"

"I-I don't know!"

The woman immediately grabbed the tablet and searched for his data. Petyr glanced at the woman. Her eyes wide and her hands shaking as she kept sliding one finger over and over the tablet.

"How fucking long?!"

"T-Two hundred and f-fifty years," she stammered. "W-who are you?"

Petyr released his hold on the guy and tried to stand up which was not a good idea. He ended up tripping over the gooey substance. "Get me a mirror."

The woman tried to approach him like he's some wild animal trapped in an unfamiliar territory. "Sir, you need time to adjust to your new sleeve. You risk schism or a psychotic break."

"He's already psychotic!" The man cried.

"Get me fucking mirror!"

The woman flipped a metal tray over, spilling the contents on the table and handed it to Petyr.

The face staring back at him is completely different from his previous sleeve. His hair is short with gray specks on the temples and his eyes are a combination of gray and green. A thin van dyke beard framed his chin and upper mouth.

"You almost fucking killed me man."

"Ain’t that nice." Petyr dropped the metal tray on the ground. "Where am I?"

"Red Keep Prison." The woman answered. "King's Landing."

 _Great._ Petyr slowly stood. The dizziness is now just a light buzzing in the back of his head. "Where's the shower?"

 

* * *

 

After the long and boring pep talk about the basics of DHF and resleeving, he was ushered into the office of the commander of the Kingsguard Police Department, Tyrion Lannister. A small man from a big and ancient family.

The Lannisters are one of the founding families of the new world alongside the Baratheons, Targaryens, Starks and the other ancient families. They are called Meths, a reference to the Biblical figure Methuselah. Together they created the cortical stack which is embedded in a person's vertebrae at the back of the neck. Every person has one implanted when they turn a year old. Inside this stack is the person's human mind—his memories and personalities—coded and stored as DHF or Digital Human Freight. The stacks can be transferred in any body or what they call now "sleeves".

Just like that, immortality is now within our grasp.

"How does it feel to be back from the dead Baelish?" Tyrion asked.

"Like I've been fucked in the mouth." Petyr replied.

"At least the humor is still there." Tyrion flicked through Petyr's criminal history. "Let's see, hmm. Espionage, terrorism, crimes against the state, and more murders than I could count. And when they arrested you, you killed your former partner in the stack. That's a bit cold blooded, don't you think?"

Petyr just stared at Tyrion as he spoke.

"Don't you have anything to say?"

"Oh, I didn't know this was supposed to be an interview." Petyr smirked. "Tell me, if I got the questions right, would you let me go?"

"This is your parole document," Tyrion continued ignoring Petyr's comment. A hologram of a document with Petyr's face appeared on his desk. "Certifying that your stack was shipped from Mereen Maximum Security Prison, received here obviously intact, and sleeved in this body," Tyrion gestured to Petyr's new sleeve. "Which came equipped with military-grade neurachem and combat muscle memory."

"You've been provided with clothing and incidentals as per the specifications of Baratheon Industries which has leased you," Tyrion glanced at Petyr who is now looking confused and pissed. "As such, you are the property of Robert Baratheon for the duration of that lease."

"Property? You fucking sold me to your brother-in-law?"

"I did not. It was my father's idea." Tyrion corrected. "Failure to comply with the terms of this parole will result in your immediate desleeving to serve out the rest of your sentence which does not appear to have an end date."

"You fucking Meths." Petyr snarled.

"I am not your enemy Baelish." Tyrion calmly stated. "Why don't you take this opportunity to get back what you've lost?"

"If only that were easy."

"Robert's lawyer will be waiting for you in the lobby." Tyrion gestured for the door. Petyr stood and started walking away. "Oh, and Baelish."

Tyrion threw a pack of mint gum at him. "Good luck. I hope I never see you here again."

 

* * *

  

Two groups of protesters could be heard outside the lobby of the police station. Each kept chanting a phrase over and over again. One is "No resleeving!" while the other is "Let the dead speak!". A thousand years ago, Petyr would've scoffed at the idea of dead people speaking but now, everything is possible. Murder victims can now find justice for their murder and a chance to live again (although in another person's body).

They call it victim restitution. But the state just gives you what they have on hand. A murdered seven-year-old kid was resleeved in a body that is older than her parents. If you have the cash, you can pay for an upgrade, if not, then you're stuck in that body. The state leases out the good sleeves for profit. That's how messed up the system is.

"Welcome to King's Landing." A woman greeted him. "I'm Sansa Stark."

The first thing Petyr noticed was her eyes. They're like ice crystals that can pierce your soul and make you come undone. Petyr would like to think he has a soul just so he could experience what it feels like to unravel before this woman in front of him. Next thing he noticed was her hair which is like a wildfire from the way it was billowing from the breeze outside. He's sorely tempted touch a strand of it, to feel it in his fingers, to find out if he would burn from the redness of it. The last thing he noticed was her face. It reminded him of those Grecian statues he saw as a child. How he would admire every single curve, every single detail.

What stands before him isn't a mere human but a divine creature specifically crafted by the gods to be the death of him. Oh, and how he would welcome that with open arms.

"I'm here to escort you to the Baratheon Residence." The woman said.

"You don't look like a lawyer."

Sansa Stark is dressed in a leather jacket over a light gray shirt tucked in her black skin-tight jeans with ankle boots which are also black. She cocked her head to the side where a few strands of her red hair fell on her face. "I'm not. I'm here to escort you."

Petyr mimicked her gesture which irritated her a bit. "Tyrion told me the lawyer is waiting for me here."

"And obviously whoever he is, he's not here." Sansa started for the door. "Are you coming or are you gonna spend the rest of your life standing there?"

Petyr followed her out of the police station and through the waiting car. They sped through Flea Bottom and up towards Aegon's High Hill.

King's Landing is divided into three. The Meths, rich and powerful families who live in Aegon's High Hill which is high above the clouds. The middle class, people who work for the Meths who live in Waterfront just beneath Aegon's High Hill. And lastly the lower class people who live in the slums of Flea Bottom.

"So, what were you in for?" Sansa asked.

"You know, a little bit of this, little bit of that. Blew some shit up and killed some people—only the ones who deserved it." Petyr stated casually.

"And how do you decide who deserves to die?"

"Depends on the day. I mean, anything can set me off. Interstellar dictatorship, genocide, people who talk too much." Petyr glanced at Sansa who was looking at him from the rear-view mirror. "Right now, I'm pretty hostile towards Tywin Lannister."

"The Lannister patriarch. What about him?"

"You could say he's responsible for my resurrection."

"Aren't you supposed to be thankful? That you have another shot at life."

"What if I told you I've given up on life."

"Then I feel sorry for you." Sansa said. They've reached the Baratheon estate and the car is now slowly descending on to the pavement. "So, where were you born? The North? Westerlands? Dorne?"

"Not here."

"That's a little vague."

"You ask a lot of questions." Petyr quipped.

Sansa chuckled and the sound is music to Petyr's ears. "We're here." Alarms suddenly blared around the estate. "Shit." They both got out of the car.

"You're not a driver, are you?"

"I never said I was a driver." Sansa flashed him her badge.

"Oh, this hasn't been a conversation, it's been an interrogation." Petyr approached her. His face just a few inches apart from hers.

"Tell me who you are." She breathes into his face and it smelled like lemons and cinnamon and Petyr briefly wondered if she also tastes the same.

"Petyr Baelish. Look me up."

Sansa took a step backward and touched the metal bracelet on her wrist. Flashes of light appeared on her left eye. On the other side of the estate, Petyr could see about five men running towards them. Each one holding a gun.

"You're an Envoy? I thought all the Envoys are dead?"

Petyr stretched his arm. "Tadaa! Here I am."

"Not another step Stark." One of the armed men pointed his gun at her.

"Oh c'mon! I'm Kingsguard PD and you know it Lancel so lower your weapons and tell me where Robert is because I really would like a word." Sansa said.

"Little Dove, you're trespassing on private property." Cersei Baratheon strolled in wearing a deep burgundy dress that flows just above her ankles. A glass of wine on one hand. "The only reason you're still alive is because the blood of the founding families flows in your veins. Such a waste to spill such pureblood."

"Like you even care." Sansa retorted. "Here's your new pet Envoy."

"Well this pet can hear you. I'm standing right here."

"Yeah good 'cause we're not done." Sansa then went back to her car and drove off the estate back to Flea Bottom. Petyr stared at the car as it disappeared from his view, all the while wondering when he'll meet her again.

"It's been a long time Baelish. Welcome to Casterly Rock." Cersei Baratheon shook his hand.

"The Stark girl. You said she's a pureblood." Petyr asked.

Cersei started walking towards the mansion while Petyr followed closely behind. "She's the eldest daughter of the Stark Family. You're familiar with the matriarch, right? Catelyn is it?"

"I was fostered in her father’s home for a few years." Petyr answered her. "Why is she at the Flea Bottom? What happened to her family?"

“Oh, you know how religious and frugal the Starks are.” Cersei said with a hint of malice in her tone. “While you were on the ice, Eddard Stark was killed in one of their CTAC operations. He wasn't resleeved since he was religious coded. Robert was extremely devastated. He and Ned were childhood friends, you know, but Ned chose not to be resleeved."

"The Stark estate is still in Aegon's High Hill and is now managed by his eldest son Robb. Sansa, the one you're asking, decided to follow his father's footsteps and became a police officer." Cersei continued. "But I heard Sansa renounced her religious coding. One decision in her life that made sense."

Petyr just hummed in approval.

"Tell me Baelish. I hear Envoys can see through a person's soul. Is it true?"

"We don't read minds Cersei."

"A pity."

They've arrived at a large oakwood double doors with intricate carvings. Petyr could make out a stag and a lion on the design. "This is Robert's study. Good luck Baelish."

The room is wide and pure white with accents of black and gold. Mounted trophies or boars, stags and lions lined the walls as wells as different rifles and crossbows. A wall shelf filled with books lined the other side of the wall but Petyr doesn't think Robert reads those at all. On the far end of the room is a table with a wine decanter placed on top of it.

"Baelish! So glad you made it!" Robert's booming voice echoed across the room. "Apologies if my lawyer failed to escort you here. The only thing that old turd is good at is leeching off my money. I don't understand why Cersei hired him in the first place."

"It's alright. The ride was very... instructive."

"Hmm. Yes, I'm sure it was. Details are, after all, an Envoy's stock-in-trade." Robert remarked. "'Immersion and total absorb.' Wasn't that the term, aye?"

"Listen Robert, I spent this entire morning being well and truly fucked around with, so let me be painfully clear," Petyr approached the man slowly. "What do you want from me?"

"I don't appreciate the tone Baelish. But Tywin highly recommended you so I'm going to look past that," Robert went to his desk to retrieve a paper. "This is a full pardon," He handed the paper over to Petyr. "It is signed by the president of the Seven Kingdoms, Aerys Targaryen."

"No one has that kind of power."

"Power is a matter of influence, Baelish. And I have a great deal of influence at the council. And if you agree to my terms, your sentence will be reduced to time served. Plus I will open up a very generous line of credit in your name. DNA trace accessible. And then when the investigation is over, you may keep this sleeve or choose another, to your own specifications," Robert explained. "This is a great deal Baelish. You can have any future you want."

"What am I going to investigate?"

"All you have to do is to solve a murder." Robert approached a wall draped by a cloth.

"Whose?" Petyr asked as Robert pulled the cloth to reveal a bloodstained wall with a bullet hole in the middle.

"Mine."


	2. While I'm Still Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My cat accidentally deleted the first one I wrote so I had to rewrite everything again. Here it is. I hope you guys enjoy it!

 

 

_We take what is offered._

 

Sansa Stark kept tapping into her database. The machine kept whirring data after data about Petyr Baelish that her computer screen is now filled to brim with documents and photos of him from his past sleeves. Each face different from the other. She can't seem to figure out how he survived all those years. Envoys were supposed to be dead and gone, their stacks destroyed. Extinct. Aerys Targaryen made sure of that.

The whole station is buzzing with life. All the while Sansa is in her own bubble

"Stop obsessing." Barristan Selmy sat in front of his desk which is facing hers. The only thing separating their desks is the large glass computer screen. "So he was just a former soldier turned Envoy who was finally caught. I don't see anything special about him."

"Envoys aren't just soldiers." Sansa corrected. "They can drop into any sleeve on any place and be combat ready in minutes. Read it!"

Sansa sent all the documents she gathered into his computer screen. She grabbed the nearest chair she could find and sat beside Selmy as he read the files. "Absorb local language, culture and customs, and pass in almost any environment..."

"...Infiltrate and manipulate computer systems, other people!" Sansa continued, pointing at the last two words. "What if he manipulated Baratheon into hiring him?!" She stood and started pacing the walkway. The heels of her boots clicking onto the marble floor.

"Sansa, calm down."

"I'm fucking calm!" Sansa threw her hands in the air in frustration. "Robert Baratheon resleeved a terrorist into our city! I want to know why!"

"Uhm, hired muscle? Expensive toy? I don't know!" Selmy said exasperated. He stood and went over to Sansa. "Listen to me Sansa. I know it's wrong but this is not your case, okay?"

Sansa sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I’m sorry. I didn't mean to lose my temper."

"It's okay." Barristan Selmy hugged her and kissed her temple. "Baelish is going back on ice where he belongs. End of story."

 

* * *

  

It was raining when Robert's driver dropped Petyr off in the Flea Bottom market square but that didn't stop the flow of people from going on about their business. He glanced at the car as it plunged into the rainy twilight. This is Flea Bottom. The city of every sin imaginable. A city where crooked glass skyscrapers cover the sky and the neon signs and digital billboards drown out the stars. Here, a million nameless souls teeter on the edge of a crumbling ideology, while the Meths above fight tooth and nail for every scrap of wealth and power.

This is not what he had fought for centuries ago.

"You look uncomfortable in that body, traveler." A man in a black hoodie stood beside him. "New sleeve? Need some brain grease?"

Petyr cautiously looked at his surroundings. Not a lot of people loitered in the alley near this area, though he noticed a few people seeking shelter from the rain. The man beside him opened his backpack which is pink—or was it purple? Petyr can hardly tell with the way the lights in this area seemed to distort the human senses.

"I got Stallion, Somno, Tetrameth, Veuron, Merge5, Stiff," The man grabbed a little ziplock bag on the corner of the backpack and handed it to him. "That is Reaper. The most epic shit if you'll ask me."

"Then I'll take it all." The man handed the whole bag to Petyr. Inside the little ziplock bag is a little eye drop. Petyr plucked it out of the plastic and squeezed one drop for each of his eyes. He knew he'll regret it in the morning but what the hell. He's going back on ice anyway.

Petyr can already feel the effects of the drugs. The flickering neon signs, the voices of people passing him by, the sound of vehicles running around the streets were all a hazy blur in front of him. He felt light as a feather like he could fly up through the dark clouds.

 _I could use a smoke right now._ Petyr rifled through his pockets for a cigarette but found a metal bracelet instead just like the one Sansa had fiddled with a while ago. He wore it on his hand, slid his finger on the switch and everything around him suddenly brightened up tenfold. Ads started playing through the corneal stream embedded in his right eye. The first two were brothels called Temple of Graces and The Peach where a woman's sultry voice kept asking him what his preferences are. The next ad was a hotel called The Mockingbird where it offers the "most macabre experience for the weary traveler". As Petyr rounded a corner another ad popped up called Dragonpit Fightdrome.

Holograms kept appearing out of nowhere. Petyr gripped the bag tighter to himself. _This is too much. How do I make it stop?_ He tried to swat away the ads but he couldn't feel anything.

 _I feel sorry for you._ Another familiar voice spoke and it sounded distant but Petyr couldn't see anyone except for the AIs.

Then suddenly, he felt a cold metal prick his neck. The lights disappeared and he's sitting on the wet pavement looking like a child lost in a crowded city.

"It's a broadcast blocker. My peace offering." The familiar voice spoke and this time Petyr noticed that it sounded clearer more distinct like—like the person is actually there. He looked up and saw those perfect blue eyes again and he could feel himself fading.

"Wanna get a drink?" Sansa Stark asked.

Petyr instantly felt so conscious about his current state. "You know, I'm perfect right here." He patted the wet concrete he's sitting on.

"Hmm okay," Sansa said. "What are you doing here?"

"Being followed apparently."

"That's what police do to psycho-terrorists." Sansa smirked.

"First, it was pet Envoy. Now a psycho-terrorist. You are being judgmental."

Sansa rolled her eyes. "You could tell me what Robert wants from you."

"I could tell you it was your case and you fucked it up!" Petyr retorted.

Sansa stared at him for a minute and noticed his bloodshot eyes. "Are you high?"

Petyr just stared back at her.

"You're really high. Forget it." Sansa turned back and started heading towards the opposite direction.

"Wait," Petyr immediately stood. Somehow, seeing Sansa's face sobered him up a bit. "Let's just start over, okay? I'm Petyr Baelish. You can call me Petyr." He held out his hand but Sansa just stared at it.

"Have you always been such an asshole?"

"Every sleeve, every time."

"You want that drink or not?" She asked again.

"I'm picking the place."

 

* * *

 

 Turns out that the bar Petyr picked was a sleazy nightclub. Vertical dance poles are evenly placed around the area where scantily clad women and men with thick makeups danced to the slow pulsating rhythm of the club. He wouldn't normally care about the locale or the person he's with but whenever he's in Sansa Stark’s presence, he suddenly felt the need to be the most decent man he can be.

Petyr was about to turn back and head outside but Sansa surprised him by heading further inside. The club was full but a couple of tables near the stage weren't taken so Sansa grabbed a chair and flopped into it. Petyr followed suit and sat beside her. He signaled the waiter for a couple of drinks and to keep it coming.

"So how did you know it was my case?" Sansa asked.

"It's called Envoy Intuition. Total absorb of everything around you without preconception or assumption," Petyr explained. "I see the details."

"Or you just got lucky."

"Luck isn't a word I'd associate with myself." Petyr smirked in her direction.

"Yeah, Petyr Baelish." Sansa scoffed. "CTAC mercenary turned Envoy turned private detective and the sole survivor of the Battle of the Uprising."

"Keep going." Petyr drawled on.

"Known by quite a few names. Master of Coin, Lord Protector... What's the other one?" Sansa tapped her lips for a second. "Oh Littlefinger!"

"Yeah, I like that one. You should call me Littlefinger." Petyr smirked.

"Your ego is way above Aegon's High Hill."

The waiter arrived and placed their drinks in front of them. They clinked glasses and drank it bottoms up. The liquid burned in a way he never thought he would get used to.

"Cersei wanted me reprimanded when I couldn't find her husband's killer." Sansa admitted. "Tried to screw with my career and she's still doing it."

"You think she wasn't the one who killed him?"

"The gun used to kill Robert was his own and it is stored in a biometric safe that only him and Cersei can open." Sansa explained. "We polygraphed Cersei and she passed without a twitch. Either she’s innocent or she’s the best liar in all of Seven Kingdoms."

Petyr already knew the details of the case, having been explained to him by Robert himself a while ago. Another perk of being filthy rich is the Full Spectrum DHF Remote Storage Backup. Each Meth has their own military grade satellite that stores backups of their stacks every 48 hours and apparently, Robert was gunned down ten minutes before his backup went through. Erasing 48 hours of his memories. How convenient.

"We chased down every lead we could get and we always came back to the same thing: Robert Baratheon locked himself in his study and blew his stack out." Sansa concluded then took another sip of her drink.

One of the women dancing went to their table and bent over to Petyr, her breasts on full display while slowly palming his crotch.

Noticing the lack of enthusiasm from him, the woman backed up a bit, "Oh honey, you don't like this model?" The woman's eyes instantly lit up and her whole body changed from being a brunette to a dirty blonde. "I can be whatever you want me to be."

"No, thank you." Petyr shook his head and signaled for the waiter. He's had too many drinks that he's starting to feel tipsy. "We'll take the check."

"No. No. We're not finished here." Sansa motioned for the waiter to back off.

"You keep saying that." Petyr could already feel his arousal growing but not because of the half-naked woman in front of him but the fiery redhead beside him. "You know, when a sleeve has been slabbed for a long time, the body keeps making hormones. Did you know that?"

"And?" Sansa is curiously looking at him now. Her eyebrows bunched up.

"You know that first time, when you're fresh out of the ta—"

"Shut the fuck up." Sansa held up a finger while a blush is starting to creep up on her cheeks. "Stop looking at me like that Baelish or I'll knock the air out of you."

"I'm thinking since you took me out for a drin—"

"You're paying, and one more time," Sansa inched her face closer to Petyr. She could smell the mint off his breath mixed with alcohol and a hint of cigarette. "You're just an asshole."

"Not the first date to call me that." Petyr smugly said.

"This is not a date."

"You know what my Envoy Intuition's telling me right now? Without question or reservation?" The way the lighting in the club made his eyes glint darker sent shivers down her spine.

"What?" she said, breath hitching as he inched closer. How quickly this conversation turned from interrogation to seduction.

"Robert believed he was murdered." Just like that, the spell was gone.

Petyr smugly straightened his back and took another sip of his drink. Sansa couldn't believe this man. One minute he was all hot and heavy and then cold like a wet rag the next. She turned her head away. The asshole knew the effect he had on her.

"Which made it a lot more fun when I turned him down." Petyr continued.

Sansa whipped her head to face him. "You what?!"

"See, psycho-terrorists, we're not so easy to predict as you'd think."

"So you're going back into storage?"

"Yeah. This isn't my world." _My world had died centuries ago._

This time the waiter approached them with the bill. Petyr tapped his thumb onto the tablet and it made a clinking sound as an indication that payment is received.

"I'm gonna be at The Mockingbird Hotel on Silk Street if you change your mind." Then he added with a wink, "You should change your mind."

Sansa rolled her eyes at him. "You know that's one of the AI hotels, right? No one stays in them anymore."

"Well I got money and he's got girls, so I think we'll be good."

"They're hardwired to want guests." Sansa tried to discourage him. "If you stay with one, it's like sleeping with a stalker."

"I'm moved by your concern Miss Stark but I'm gonna get myself a nice meal, couple of high-end hookers with a little appreciation for the stamina of the newly resleeved, and enjoy what's left of my little vacation before I go back to sleep—forever."

"Ha. Funny."

"You could help me out though. Make this a memorable last day for me." Petyr asked once more. Half hoping she would say yes even if it was out of pity. He would take what he can get when it comes to her.

When Sansa said nothing, Petyr took one last drink from his glass, grabbed his backpack and walked out of the club.


End file.
